


Lost and Found

by not_the_Alex_youre_looking_for



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, May include Season 7, Minor Angst, Minor Injuries, Post-Season/Series 06, Sharing Clothes, Some references to Season 8 but nothing that is too major
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_the_Alex_youre_looking_for/pseuds/not_the_Alex_youre_looking_for
Summary: The first time it happens, it’s an accident.Shiro leaves his uniform jacket tucked over Keith after a too-long movie marathon the night before he leaves for an extended mission around Mars, and Keith just… doesn’t give it back for a while. Shiro’s not there for two weeks, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter that it doesn’t end up back in the laundry system until Shiro’s ship safely lands on the tarmac.***It doesn’t stay an accident for long.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Lost and Found

Fifteen minutes. 

Just fifteen minutes. He hasn't lived here in almost a year—or three years, if he counts the time he spent with his… Krolia. Calling her anything else is still too new, too old a hurt, causes him to feel too much.

Like losing the castle does.

He hasn’t lived here in three years, but it has been the only home they’ve had since leaving Earth. Was the only place he felt safe enough to let his guard down. Even in the months Zarkon’s forces were hunting them, the castle had been the only true constant.

He hadn’t been sure he would ever think of the castle as more than a mobile base, an overly large storage locker for his lion and his bed. Home had been a cabin in the desert, falling apart and despairingly destroyed and achingly restored. Even when the only time he’d spent there after age twelve was that desperate, grief-stricken year when Shiro had disappeared. The first time.

The second Black touches down in his hanger, Keith is running. If he hurries, he’ll be able to grab his things after he helps load the emergency evacuation kits. He and Pidge had helped Coran put them together all those months ago, never dreaming they would need them. At least, Keith hadn’t; Pidge’s paranoia had proven well-founded once again. 

But Keith’s not sure they ever could have truly been prepared for this. 

The team is doing their best though. Hunk said he’d cover the kitchen and food stores before heading to engineering; Lance had a handle on Kaltenecker and her things. Allura… there was nothing Keith could do to help her ( _ they’d had to leave him behind, the team came first _ ) break down the comms systems, but Pidge might need a hand with some of the repair equipment for the Lions. Will they even be able to fix them in the future?

Fourteen minutes now. There’s just not enough  _ time _ .

He rounds the corner to the storage room where the emergency stocks are kept, and feels a small weight lift from his shoulders. Romelle is already there, almost finished with loading a transport trolley with crates containing their supplies. She doesn’t bother to acknowledge him, just continues her single-minded focus on lifting boxes. She’s no warrior, but she moves quickly: Altean strength, aided by grief honed into purpose.

Looking into her eyes when they first met had been achingly familiar. If he had been younger, had still been that desert scavenger whose loneliness and loss had been a constant shadow, the comparison would have been almost too uncomfortable to bear. He abruptly wonders if she had anyone she left behind in her quest for the truth. If there’s anyone to miss her now that she’s gone. He knows all too well how painful the answer might be. He won’t ask. But if they all make it out of this, he’ll tell her about the desert, and how the sky seems so big it feels like you’re the only person in the universe. How the emptiness feels so heavy it would almost crush you under its weight.

And then he’ll tell her about how after the heavy rains, the landscape explodes with color. How even though the stars seemed far and remote, that everyone is made of the same cosmic dust. How what seemed so vast and desolate can be a source of comfort and belonging, even amongst virtual strangers who became so much more.

He says none of this. Not now. But as she loads the last of the supplies onto the lift, he reaches out and puts a gentle hand on her arm and tells her simply, “Thank you.”

Romelle tenses and her eyes widen in puzzlement before the stiff lines of her face relax almost imperceptibly. Her eyes fly to his cheek as she focuses on his face. She doesn’t ask. She merely places her other hand on his where it rests on her arm, and gives a squeeze of acknowledgment. She offers him a small smile and a nod, before guiding the pallet out the doorway.

Twelve minutes left. Comm systems in the ship have been shut down to conserve power, and Keith wishes he had his helmet to check in with the others. That has to be his next stop then, to pick up a replacement from the armory for himself. 

He tears out of the storage room and sprints down the hall toward the lift to the armory. When he first arrived, it seemed as if the whole ship was large enough for the population of a small city to comfortably reside inside its walls. While its halls became more familiar over time, he still thinks it’s inconveniently large. He has too many things to  _ do _ and no time to do it in.

Footsteps echoing against the floor, a counterpoint to his heart. Each step counting down the time they have left in this place they called home. This place that had held his home.

_ Slap, ba-bump, slap, ba-bump.  _

As he runs, he inventories what he might need to pick up. Repair kit. Left vambrace, cracked in the fight. Helmet, lost, like so much else he had to leave behind on that platform. 

He still doesn’t know if any of them were alive. Could only focus on the man in front of him, the fight for their lives playing out in real time, so much worse than his half-muddled visions and nightmares. He probably will never know. It is beyond his control, now. All he can do is focus on the next step, then the next. 

Get his helmet. Check in with his team. Grab his bag from his room. Trust that everyone else is prepared for evacuation. Clear the blast radius.

Free Shiro from inside the Black Lion.

_ Tick, tick, tick.  _

He skids to a stop by the door, beelining straight for his old armor rack. He pulls open the spare storage, thankful once again for Altean technology and Pidge’s unflinching pragmatism and preparation. A spare helmet fills the drawer, along with doubles of all his armor pieces, a duffle, and a repair kit. He snatches it all, sliding his helmet on as he stands. A flick of a switch, and suddenly the voices of his friends fill his ears, calling status updates to each other.

“Ten minutes, guys! I have the emergency rations half-loaded into Yellow, but if someone could grab the Puigian cookbook I left in the lounge on their way through I’d appreciate it.”

“I got ya, buddy, I’m on my way past there to get Kalten ecker.”

“Allura, Coran says that the autopilot system is intact, and the only thing he wants from his quarters is his protective shades, the holo on his desk, and the box in the left storage drawer under his bed.”

“Tell him I knew he could do it and I will make sure to grab them.”

Keith breaks in the rapid fire exchanges. “Anyone need any extra armor pieces? I’m in the armory.”

Keith is already moving towards Pidge’s stand as she says, “Can never have too many spares. And who knows where we’ll get more.”

“That’s a cheery thought. Thanks, Pidge,” Lance quips in reply. “Grab a set for me then, too, Samurai.”

“I had some in Yellow already. Thanks though, man.”

“I, too, had an extra set in my quarters. Thank you, Keith. Comm equipment and navigation disks are loaded. Coran has a handle on engineering equipment. Can you check with Krolia in the infirmary?”

“On my way,” Keith affirms, stowing an extra set of blue-accented armor in his bag. 

He turns to head on to his next task, when his gaze falls on the tube in the middle of the room. Shiro’s armor. What about Shiro’s other things? Keith swallows, hard. Would anyone have thought of it?

They’re running out of time. Though not too far, the infirmary is not particularly close to the sleeping quarters, either. He thinks of the few items he left behind, all those months and years ago: His hoverbike starter. A packet of Red Hots he’d had stashed in his pouch. An extra set of gloves. His jacket.

Eight minutes. 

Fuck it. He doesn’t really have much here, anyway. There’s not many material possessions besides his—Krolia’s—blade he can’t live without.

Keith sprints through the halls, strap of his slightly unwieldy satchel of armor digging into his shoulder as he skids around turns, the weight and unbalanced shape causing him to lose precious seconds. Finally he comes to the residential corridor, barrels around the corner—and almost slams into Krolia, coming from the other direction. There’s a sack in her arms and the wolf at her side. 

Before he can even open his mouth, Krolia starts speaking.

“I had the wolf sniff out your room, and grabbed your things. I thought you might need time to pack something else.” She gives him a knowing look, an amused yet gentle quirk to her lips. He’s filled with a rush of gratitude for this woman, for finding her in all this chaos, for getting to spend so much time getting to know each other.

“The princess asked me to head to the infirmary—”

“I’m on my way there now. The wolf can help me carry anything we need.”

Keith smiles at her in silent thanks. For all her stoicness and devotion to duty, she had helped him realize more than anyone how some things came before the mission. He gives a nod of acknowledgement and starts off down the hall again. 

“I’ll make sure to put his pod in the Black Lion myself,” comes echoing down the corridor as he races away. 

She knows. How could she not, after living with him and re-living some of the best and worst experiences of his life. As awkward ( _ as gutrenching as joyous as lonely as hopeful _ ) as some of those visions had been, it had cemented a bond between them, patching over the cracks and strain of lost years, filling in a foundation, leveling out the entire structure of his life. Krolia now understood him in a way few others—one other—had. 

That word—sticking heavy under his sternum, pushed down and away out of sight where the loss couldn’t hurt him—suddenly feels closer to the surface. He won’t say it today, or tomorrow, or even next week. Two years isn’t enough, yet, to balance the previous nineteen, however much they experienced together. But he thinks it, an unspoken affection and gratitude to this incredible woman whom he admires in so many ways.

_ Thanks, Mom _ . 

He races into the residential corridor, and slams his hand against the keypad outside Shiro’s quarters.

By the time his brain catches up and Keith starts to wonder if maybe the lock would have been reprogrammed in his absence, the door slides open. At least not everything had changed while he had been away.

Shiro’s room is neat, nearly spartan. Shiro had never been one for a lot of clutter, but there are no personal items on display. Even before Keith had left, there had been some odds and ends on the shelf in the corner, collected over the course of their months in space. Now, there’s just the matte blankness of grey metal.

Jaw tight with emotion, the wound on his face begins to burn. One more hurt to his already bruised heart.

Six minutes.

Keith shakes off the feeling, and moves into the room. At least gathering Shiro’s items will be easy, whatever he has ( _ whatever the clone _ ) has kept. 

He drops to his knees beside the sleeping alcove, activating the storage drawers under the bed. Inside the first is a couple Castle-manufactured blankets, folded neatly. Underneath is the Altean sleepwear Coran had provided for them, coordinating Lion slippers and all. Keith spreads one blanket, and piles the rest of the contents inside. He’d never seen Shiro wear the pajamas, but he figures that any change from bloody and battered armor ( _ cracks across his breast from Keith’s sword the smell of charred wires this can’t happen not like this) _ will be welcome on their trek to… wherever they end up heading.

Keith slides open the next drawer, and is greeted with a pillow. As he starts to lift it out to set on his makeshift bundle, a flash of red catches his eye. 

His fingers spasm. His chest feels suddenly too small.

Slowly, he pulls the pillow aside to see the contents underneath, and his breath catches on the lump of emotion in his throat. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, finally, after literal years of Sheith WIPs collecting dust in my drafts, I'm finally posting the first one. It isn't strictly a 5+1, but it also isn't NOT a 5+1. We'll see how this goes.  
> Set post-S6, this fic will include different vignettes from Keith and Shiro's relationship, from pre-Kerb through post-war. There may be some elements from S8 present, but I'm going to be ignoring probably 99% of it.  
> Updates will likely be sporadic, but I'm making it a goal this year to just let the Sheith love flow out of me, and post whenever I have something and not worry if it's perfect.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or a kudos if you'd like, and feel free to check me out on Twitter at [@Not_the_Alex](https://www.twitter.com/Not_the_Alex)


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